


Polarize Me

by purplemayhem



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Dead Parent, Hair Dye, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kind of follows the plot of the prequel and then the main game but also kind of not really, Reader has anxiety and stutters when really nervous, Some chapters are just gonna be reader's diary entries, This is going to be a hell of a long story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-01-26 17:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12562156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplemayhem/pseuds/purplemayhem
Summary: She came into your life like a storm, and left your soul a wreck. In the aftermath of her abrupt departure, you are forced to continue navigating school, high school drama, and... your friend having superpowers, apparently?This is the story of your life before, during and after Rachel Amber, and the long journey to helping save the world.Reader-Insert retelling of Life is Strange.





	1. July 15th, 2008 - August 29th, 2008

**Author's Note:**

> The story starts at the beginning of the protagonist's freshman year of high school, which makes Chloe, Warren, etc freshmen (cause Warren skipped a grade and I kind of assumed Chloe probably failed one), and Rachel is a sophomore.

_**July 15th, 2008** _  

> Holy. Fucking. Shit.
> 
> I am allowed to curse this once. Marianna won’t be looking in here, she doesn’t care that much. Or at least I hope she doesn’t, because I am NOT looking forward to the lecture I would get for all the shit I talk in here about her. BUT. Even dear devil-in-law can’t ruin my mood today! I got into BLACKWELL ACADEMY!!! Which is, you know, only the most damn prestigious school in the state. And I got in on my own, too, which is going to be AMAZING to rub in bitch-in-law’s face when I finally show her my letter. Now she can’t gossip behind my back about how I ride on my brother’s coattails, the privileged slut.
> 
> …Okay, that’s too much cursing. Big brother would be upset with me if he saw me cussing out his wife like this. Even if she really deserves it. Even if I still don’t understand why he would marry someone who doesn’t have a soul. EITHER WAY, I don’t have to stay around here for much longer. I can go back to Arcadia Bay! I’ve always wanted to live in a dorm. I admit it’s kinda scary, but at least I won’t have
> 
> THAT woman hovering over my shoulder all the time, checking my stuff for drugs or some ish like that.  
>  I can see Mom again. I hope she’s okay. It’s been a long time since my last visit.

 

  
**August 1st, 2008**

 

> I… still haven’t told James about the Blackwell scholarship. Or the fact that I applied in the first place. I tried, I really did! But whenever I bring up school, he just launches into a long rant about what a great school he’s found nearby. The very thought of going there, of staying in this accursed town, but he sounds so damn EXCITED about it that I just can’t break his heart like this.
> 
> I shouldn’t put this off any longer, I know. I already accepted this scholarship. Hell, I already bought my plane ticket! How he doesn’t notice the suitcases in my room is beyond me. Maybe it’s because he never actually goes in there?
> 
> I guess that’s a good thing. Maybe. I don’t know.

 

  
**August 13th, 2008**

 

> I think Marianna knows. Which is… Shit, this is terrible. I don’t even know HOW she knows, though I guess the packing and stuff is pretty obvious… But I made sure to hide my acceptance letter from view…
> 
> Did she go through my drawers? I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s just the kind of person she is. Controlling. Manipulative. Obsessive.
> 
> This means I have to tell the truth soon. Or she will.
> 
> And if she gets to it first, my plan might just go down in flames.

 

  
**August 27th, 2008**

 

> The plane for Oregon leaves tomorrow at 10 am sharp. I… haven’t told James yet. Marianna has been quiet too, surprisingly, but I KNOW she knows. I can see it in her eyes, and it’s making me a little jumpy. Paranoid. I think James is starting to notice. I’ve started to bite my nails again. It’s not a good sign.
> 
> It doesn’t matter. I will be on that plane. I will jump through fire if I must, but I will be on that plane.

 

  
**August 28th, 2008**

 

> The reveal… Didn’t go well. Not that I was expecting it to, really. But damn, I didn’t expect James to—He kind of flipped a table. And by ‘kinda’ I mean ACTUALLY FLIPPED THE DAMN TABLE, plates and all.
> 
> So much for calmly telling him over dinner.
> 
> Then he proceeded to yell for twenty minutes, cry for another five, then slam the door to his room behind him and stay in there for the next… however long. I don’t even know, I left the house before he ever opened the door. It’s… unfortunate, but this is how it has to be. I’m glad little Kira was happy for me, at least. She’s just a kid, so she doesn’t understand, but… It was still nice. At least someone is there to support me through this.
> 
> Marianna was, as always, entirely judgmental, and completely unhelpful. She just stared at me the entire time and I SWEAR she was trying to tell me with her eyes that she was right about me all along. She’s not, though. I’m not doing this because I’m selfish, or because I don’t love James, because I DO. But... I love Mom more. And she’s stuck in that cold, white place, all alone.
> 
> Maybe, deep down, I’m still mad James had her committed.

 

  
**August 29th, 2008**

 

> I.
> 
> HATE.
> 
> PLANES.
> 
> Flying is the worst. Airplane food is the worst. JETLAG IS THE FUCKING WORST. My head feels like it’s splitting, and it’s already the next day! I don’t even remember how I got to my dorm to be honest, I just kind of collapsed onto the bed and passed right out. I think a few of the girls gave me weird looks on my way here, but whatever, they will live. And hopefully I won’t be called ‘Zombie Girl’ or whatever.
> 
> Surely high school kids are more mature than middle schoolers. We’re all adults here… right?
> 
> I look like a mess. My hair is a bird’s nest. Which is… a little worse than what it usually looks like, but actually not that much worse. I do need to shower though, and actually introduce myself maybe.
> 
> Hopefully I didn’t completely ruin my first impression yet.
> 
> ….I just spent twenty minutes staring at my door. Stupid anxiety. I am better than this, I know I am! I can do this! Totally! Just walk out that door and say hi to people!!
> 
> …………..If I die out there in this hall, remember me as I was. Awkward and weird.


	2. Bathroom Friendships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It would have been so much easier if Rachel and Chloe lived in the dorms, but they don't, so baby steps it is. Juliet is actually one of my favorite girl characters, I like her spunk. Hopefully I didn't write her too out of character.
> 
> Special thanks to Markala, our very first reviewer! I hope you enjoy this actual narrative.

Your fingers clench tightly around the straps of your bath bag, so tight that you can feel your nails dig into your palm and you are pretty sure you are drawing blood. Air enters your mouth as you draw a shaky breath. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.

You are suddenly filled with regret. You should have stayed home with your brother, in their small, private neighborhood where you knew everything and everyone. Where you were _safe_. Nothing could ever harm you when James was around.

But James isn’t here to save you now, and after that last exchange you doubt he ever will be again. You’ve hurt him, you know that. The guilt eats you up inside, but there is something greater forcing you forward. It is the reason you boarded that plane despite your fear of heights, why you tossed off the safety blanket you’ve spent your entire life clinging to.

Your mother.

You swallow hard and release the breath you hadn’t noticed you were holding, then pushed the door with a trembling hand, peering out.

 _Easy, girl._ Your father used to say, back when he was alive enough to care. _Deep breaths, and you are going to be a-okay._

You venture down the hall, clutching your shower supplies to your chest. The start of school is still relatively far off, so there aren’t that many students at the dorms right now – a fact you are endlessly grateful for. You will have time to learn the layout of these halls in the days to come, and when you do, you will be ready to face them. Probably.

You almost make it. Your hand is pressed against the smooth surface of the door to the showers, relieved sigh just about ready to escape your throat, when a clicking of heels behind you makes you go stiff. “My, my.” The voice, most likely belonging to the owner of the clicky clacky heels, was low and smooth and infinitely condescending. Like Marianna’s but younger, and somehow even _more_ privileged. You didn’t even think such a thing was possible.

The world is in slow motion as you turn, like a deer in headlights, towards the short-haired blond girl with perfect makeup, perfect skin, and clothes more expensive than all of your wardrobe combined. She is smiling at you from the extra two inches her heels give her, but there is nothing warm in the upright curve of her lips. There is venom there, and death. You are already scared.

“Zombie girl finally decided to crawl out of her cave. Do you normally douse everyone around you with coffee and then ignore them, or am I just that attractive that you couldn’t resist?” You can’t even remember what she is talking about.

“I-I—” And there goes your anxiety again, pushing you under the dark waters and shaking your frame so hard your words clank together in a stutter so bad you can barely understand yourself. “I-I was… j-just j-jetlagged.”

Clearly, this girl doesn’t care. She is just here to amuse herself, make fun of the anxious girl with the stutter. She’s not the first time, and she is not the last, but she still makes you sick and angry. Your fingers clench tighter around your shower supplies. “L-look, I-I know I-I’m pretty and a-all, but you can t-take a p-picture, I-I have other t-things t-to do.” You turn around in a hurry, cursing your nerves. If it wasn’t for the stutter, that bit of sass would have been pride-worthy.

You feel much safer when the white door separates you from the blond and her posse of equally hot-looking dolls. Releasing the breath you hadn’t noticed you were holding, you slide down the wall with your back still pressed against it. Of course in your zombie state you would run into some prissy girl with a napoleon complex – you probably ruined her favorite overly-expensive jacket or something.

It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve managed to screw everything up. You just didn’t expect to do it so quickly.

“Hey, are you okay?” The voice that summons you out of your thoughts is smooth and soft, similar yet completely opposed to that of the girl outside. Lifting your eyes from the smooth tiling on the floor reveals a head of dirty blonde hair and inquisitive green eyes.

You hadn’t realized there was someone in the room when you came in. The erratic beating of your own heart must’ve drowned out all other noises. Now you just feel foolish for looking like a mess in front of this – very attractive – stranger. “U-Um, I’m fine, really…” You try to smile up at her, but obviously she doesn’t buy it.

“Hun, you aren’t fooling anyone with that level of lying. Especially not the journalist extraordinaire, Juliet Watson!” She smiles brightly and offers you a hand. After a moment’s hesitation – during which you blink several times in confusion – you accept her help in getting you back into an upright position. You avoid contact the entire time. “There we go! Much better. You look much better than yesterday, by the way.”

Now THAT gets you to look her in the eye. “I’m sorry.” You blurt out, managing not to stutter. Your heartbeat has calmed down dramatically, and it’s easier to breathe. You finally start feeling like you are okay again. “Did I spill something on your clothes, too? I honestly don’t remember. The jetlag… It hit me hard, is all.”

You half expect her to yell at you, to call you out on that bullshit excuse. So when she laughs – an honest, clear laugh that rings in the air – you are taken aback enough to almost trip backwards. Juliet catches your arm just in time to steady you, and in a few minutes the both of you are laughing.

“You are pretty cool, you know?” She tells you once both of you are done choking on your own giggles. “Does the cool person have a name?”

Your whole face flushes red when you realize that you have yet to introduce yourself, and you do so immediately. Juliet says your name once, twice, and you giggle. It sounds so weird, but cool at the same time. Like you have a friend.

“Well then,” The ‘Journalist Extraordinaire’ states, a smile on her face and hands on her hips. “Why are you hiding out in the bathroom anyways?”

“Uh…”


	3. Curiosity is Important

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, the bully is NOT Victoria! Shocker, I know. But Victoria in Before the Storm wasn’t an outright bully… yet. We’ll get there eventually. But there will always be bullies (coughcoughDrewcoughcough), there is no running away from that.

> _“Well then,” The ‘Journalist Extraordinaire’ states, a smile on her face and hands on her hips. “Why are you hiding out in the bathroom anyways?”_
> 
> _“Uh…”_

“Um, I ran into this girl outside the bathroom.” You say, avoiding eye contact. Your fingers subconsciously clench and unclench around the hems of your sleeves. “She called me ‘Zombie Girl’ and, uh, I may have sassed her just a little bit. She didn’t look happy.”

For a moment, Juliet blinks. The room is silent.

Then, she bursts out laughing, and you almost fall over backwards again out of sheer surprise.

“You _sassed_ Jennifer Crossbell?” Juliet manages to get out between fits of laughter. “Oh my God, you are like, such a boss right now. I need to write an article about this: Newbie Stands Up To Senior Bully!”

You aren’t entirely sure if she’s joking or not, but the fact that she’s not freaking out over this and telling you to pack your bags and run is reassuring. Is it weird that you were kind of expecting the worst-case scenario? Maybe you need to stop listening to _Heathers: The Musical_.

“Seriously though.” Juliet finally catches her breath and leans her back on the wall next to you, smile still present on her lips. “You have big balls for a shy girl. Hats off to you.” You smile – a miniscule curl of your lips, but Juliet sees it and it makes her own smile widen as well.

“Is there something I should know about her? Uh, I mean—” You cut yourself off the moment you realize how creepy and weird that sounds. “I just… I got here yesterday, but you and… Jennifer are the only students I’ve met so far. It’s a little scary.” That was an understatement.

Juliet gives your shoulder a reassuring pat. “I get it. I’m a freshman too, you know. But I’ve been here a couple of days already, so I’ve met some people, heard some things. There are plenty of interesting faces in the crowd here.” She seems to pull a folded piece of paper out of thin air and hands it to you with a triumphant grin. “Finding out things is my job as a journalist!”

Unfolding the paper reveals a printed black-and-white copy of a page of a yearbook from last year. Each member of the junior class – that would make them seniors now, you realize – stares at you from the page, blank and severe. Your eyes scan over the unfamiliar faces until they land on the familiar bleached blond hair and overly expensive clothing. JENIFFER CROSSBELL, the nametag underneath it says.

Juliet must notice your stare, because she scooches closer to you to examine the girl’s face as well. “I hear she is like _the_ top dog on campus right now. Wealthy, popular, great grades… Shame she has the personality of a fifth-grade boy. I bet she pushes people she likes, too.”

“Now who’s being sassy,” You reply with a grin, which Juliet immediately returns.

“Yeah, but not to her face!” She laughs. “Not yet, anyways. If she ever tries to pick on you again though, call me.” She hands you her phone – a silent invitation to enter your number. It takes you a second to realize that’s what she wants, partly because you are mesmerized by all the glitter on her case, and partly because you’ve never actually had someone who wanted to have your phone number for non-emergency situations. It made you feel warm inside.

Not a bad day after all, you decide. Not bad at all.

Juliet leaves pretty soon after getting her phone back, but not before the two of you share a laugh about Jeniffer’s fancy shoes (which, according to Juliet, clash _horrendously_ with the rest of her outfit) and Juliet reassuring you once more that if you ever need help, you can call her up at any time. She also insists that the two of you need to go out for bubble tea at some point (you aren’t entirely sure what ‘bubble tea’ is, but you agree anyway), before sliding out of the bathroom.

You follow soon afterwards, after taking your much-needed shower. The water helps clear your head a little, which in turn brings up your mood and self-esteem. Your hands stop shaking, at least, and your breaths come easy and slow. By the time you are out of the shower – during which you give yourself an internal pep talk – you are smiling to yourself.

After getting dressed (you try not to think that you go to a preppy high school now, and your outfit doesn’t exactly help you blend in) you decide to spend the next however-long wandering the floor of the dorm you live on. You want to get acquainted with the people that live around here, you tell yourself, but really it’s because you want to make sure that your room is as far away from Jenniffer Crossbell as architecturally possible.

It is, thankfully. Her room is all the way on the other side of the hall while yours is near the door leading out towards the staircase. Good, you breathe a sigh of relief. That means you don’t have to sneak past her room whenever you go in or out.

You find Juliet’s room, too, a few doors down from yours. The whiteboard outside her room showcases some kind of quote from a famous reporter, or so you assume based on the context. It seems Juliet wasn’t kidding about the whole ‘reporter extraordinaire’ thing. You file that information away for later.

There isn’t much to see around the dorm aside from your own room, which at this point in time looks more like a prison cell than anything else. It’s not that you don’t like the layout – if anything, you are actually pretty damn glad that Blackwell provides you with furniture, because you would not be looking forward to finding a bed in a town you’ve never been in – but it’s so _empty_ , and the suitcases and bags piled on in the middle of the room are so _intimidating_. You haven’t even taken the locks off yet. Maybe later.

Instead, you waddle out of the dorm and make your way to the main building. It’s a short walk, barely five minutes, but it turns into twenty when you get distracted by squirrels. A particularly friendly one ends up sitting not a foot away from your shoe, and you bend down to pet it. For some reason, you suddenly feel like you are being watched.

Blackwell Academy looms over you, silent and grave, as you cautiously try pushing the front door. It opens easily, much to your surprise, and you walk into the building just as cautiously.

It’s everything you’ve come to expect after looking at the flyers – large, clean and incredibly intimidating. Every inch of the place screams ‘preppy high school’ and the amount of money being poured into it is as obvious as obvious gets. You are in awe – but then you also never _stopped_ being in awe, from the moment you were accepted into the Academy.

Not a lot of classrooms are unlocked right now, and you are thankful for that. You could actually get lost exploring every inch of this place, and you need to re-establish a normal sleeping pattern before school began. Which means no exploring through the night. Bummer.

You hover on the edge of the decision to look into the art room first, or the science room. The two rooms stand opposite to each-other at the end of the hall. The art room’s lights are dimmed, and you can faintly make out the soft clicking of a camera. The science room is brightly lit, and even though there is barely any noise, you are fairly certain someone is in there.

 _BANG!_ Something explodes in the room to the left.

Well, then. Science lab it is.


	4. Weird Science

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROTECT BABY WARREN. I didn’t know he was younger than everyone until I started researching, but I guess it makes sense. He is such a baby genius, and y’all should definitely be friends with this smol child. Also headcannoning that Warren was picked on as a kid cause he skipped a grade and is uber smart.
> 
> Also I don’t know what this is. I just wanted Warren in here because he’s not in Before the Storm yet and I’m lowkey mad about that. Also the fact that Warren is IN CHLOE’S CLASS but in Life is Strange he doesn’t know who she is. I mean yeah, blue hair and all, but STILL! Okay, rant done. Carrying on.

You practically fly through the door to the science room, having pushed the slightly-open piece of wood a little too hard. When you do manage to find your balance – thankfully before your face hits the floor – you look around to find the source of the loud popping noise that attracted you to the room in the first place.

The scene before you can only be described as _disaster_. Partially-broken beakers and shattered pieces of glass are scattered on the floor, together with colorful chemicals you presume were once housed in said beakers. Your eyes follow the line of damage to find a faintly smoking mess of a table – and you are quite sure the gooey, _glowing_ mess on it is not supposed to be there. The parts of the table free from the goo are splattered with more colorful chemicals and powders.

In the midst of it all sits a boy, and his face is so priceless you wish you were any good at photography, or had a camera on you for that matter. That kind of expression needs to be remembered.

His hair is a wild mess, made even worse by the fact that there seems to be powder and _shattered glass_ in it. It somehow managed to avoid being exposed to chemicals, but the same could not be said for his clothes – the green, glowy goo seemed to go almost too well with the cartoon Schrodinger cat design, but you doubted it was good for his health. His face, though, that had to be the best part. The whole thing, whatever the hell he was doing, must have exploded right in his face, because there was ash and dust on it, and the most alarmed expression you have ever seen a man wear. He looks like a Sim that just got electrocuted.

You settle for clicking the camera button on your phone. There is no malice in the action, no intent to make fun of him for it later, but rather because this really is hilariously funny, and you kind of want to remember this moment forever.

The shutter sound goes off, and if the boy hadn’t known that you are there, he does now. He turns to you, and you almost die trying to hold in the laugh bubbling in your throat.

His eyebrows seem to have been singed off.

“Uh, hi,” He says awkwardly, setting down the beaker he had been holding to rub the back of his neck. You wonder if he’s waiting for you to say something demeaning, because he has that facial expression you are too familiar with seeing in the mirror. The self-help books you’ve read (which have this far been entirely unhelpful, by the way) call it ‘victim expression’. You feel a surge of sympathy for the boy.

“H-Hello!” Your voice trembles slightly and you swallow. Anxiety freaking sucks, and you feel kind of bad for taking that picture now and making him think you’re here to make fun of him. You hadn’t thought about all of that when you were taking it. The anxiousness seeps into your words, and into the way you fiddle with the hem of your shirt without realizing it. “Are you o-okay?”

“Uh, yeah!” He answers, then quickly realizes that the mess around him probably looks anything _but_ okay, and his ears light up like a Christmas tree. “I, uh, I mean I’m not dead? Like, it could be worse, and---”

“Do you want help?” You interrupt his rambling before you can stop yourself. You aren’t entirely sure where the question came from, but there is something disturbing about the goo on the desk that makes you want to do some spring cleaning in late August.

He blinks a couple of times before his mind can formulate a reply. “Uh… sure? I mean, if you want to?” He smiles, and it’s infectious enough for you to return it. This is better, much less awkward. The boy is kind of cute when he smiles.

Fifteen minutes and dozens of dirty paper towels later, the lab is back to looking… slightly less messy. There will forever be slightly glow-in-the-dark residue on the lab desk, and you are pretty sure someone will eventually notice the fact that at least three beakers are now missing, but at the very least there is no longer any threat of chemical poisoning from whatever it was that the guy created in his beaker.

“What were you even doing?” You ask once the room is clean enough to not get the both of you in trouble. Your sleeves are drenched in cleaning chemicals as you hop on to one of the tables.

The boy throws away the last few wet paper towels and leans against the table opposite you. “I was trying to practice a magic trick.” He confesses with a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck again. “I saw a video of it on YouTube… I guess I’m not that good with my chemistry yet.” He laughs. “I’m Warren, by the way.”

He says it so matter-of-factly, and you suddenly realize that up until now neither of you have introduced yourselves. Heat rises up to your cheeks and you stutter over your own introduction while simultaneously cursing yourself for sounding like an idiot. You feel like one too, again. Warren just smiles, and shakes your hand.

That makes two nice people, and one mean. Hope in humanity restored, for now.

“Anyways, we should jet before we get caught.” Warren points out. “Getting scolded before school even starts would majorly suck.”

“Hey, I didn’t even do anything!” You giggle. “Don’t drag me into this mess with you!”

You are both speed-walking down the hall now, looking suspicious as all hell with his slime-covered shirt and your chemical-soaked sleeves. “Well, too bad, you’re my partner in crime now, guilty by association!” Warren replies, and you roll your eyes playfully. “Besides, it’s---"

You have to grab his sleeve and pull in order to prevent the guy from walking straight into the glass door of the school. “Easy there, tiger. Don’t break your face in before someone has the chance to stuff it in a locker.”

He flinches at the comment, and you immediately regret opening your stupid mouth. It was supposed to be a joke, one you’ve made many times before with your friends back home, and you’ve become so accustomed to it that the thought that it might be offensive hadn’t even crossed your mind.

Your anxiety immediately barrels out of control. “Uh, t-that’s not what I m-meant, I mean… Uh…” You trip over your words with the grace of a dancing hippo, flailing your arms about in a pathetic attempt to salvage the situation. So consumed in your efforts, you don’t notice Warren’s expression shift to confusion, eventually settling into a soft smile.

You are a strange one, Warren decides at that moment. Not a bad kind of strange, but definitely different. He doesn’t know who you are all too well, or where you are from, or why you are here – or anything at all, actually – but he thinks you can be trusted. At least, for now.

“Hey, hey, I get it.” He laughs and pats your shoulder, much the same way Juliet had done just a few hours ago. You wonder if it’s a trend of some kind, or maybe you just have a face that screams ‘PLEASE REASSURE ME WITH PHYSICAL CONTACT’, but either way, it’s pretty nice. The contact lasts only a moment, however, as Warren switches his attention to pushing open the front doors.

Then he turns around and offers you a hand. “Shall we, fair lady?”

You giggle, and take it. “We shall!”


	5. A Friend Indeed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warren is the best friend anyone can ever have and he deserves all the hugs. Also Reader doodles pictures of her friends and pins them above her bed.

The first week of school goes just about as well as you’ve expected. Which, given your tendency to immediately assume the worst about everything, is never a good thing.

You trip on your way to your first class (and you are almost certain that the cause was a treacherously-placed overly-expensive heel of a certain blonde senior), thus succeeding for the umpteenth time in your life in thoroughly embarrassing yourself in front of everyone before you even have the chance to say your name. Which, by the way, you stutter through as if you were standing naked on a piece of ice in the middle of the Arctic, which certainly doesn’t help. The entire class starts laughing, safe for Warren – bless his soul – and some sour-looking kid in the back that you swear is actually incapable of smiling.

By the time lunch rolled around, everyone in Blackwell seems to have heard your new nickname. You should have expected it, you realize with a sigh as yet another older student snickers and calls out ‘Still on your feet, Zombie Girl?’. You do your best to stifle the sinking feeling in your stomach as you catch Jenniffer’s perfectly-eyelined eyes gaze at you from across the courtyard, a triumphant smirk on her lips. There is no doubt in your mind that this is her doing, but you can’t stop her, and it’s useless to try.

This was not what you meant when you said you didn’t want to be invisible anymore.

None-the-less, the day continues, and you follow along like a good little student.

On Tuesday, you sit next to Warren in Science, much to the seeming displeasure of a bespectacled raven-haired girl that glares at you from across the room as you plop down on the seat adjacent to the boy.

“Hey!” Warren greets brightly. He looks much better with all the gunk and glass scrubbed out of his hair. His eyebrows are still missing, which undoubtedly brought upon him the laughter of the other students as well. At least you are not alone in the making-a-fool-of-yourself department.

You return the greeting with a soft smile, and small talk ceases as Ms. Grant begins her lesson. She is a portly dark-skinned woman with soft, friendly features and a tone of voice that suggests she really does love the subject she’s teaching.

Warren’s face does little to hide his fascination with what she is talking about, and you find yourself looking more at him than at the board. There is something undeniably intriguing about someone who’s found their element. On some level, you are jealous – you have yet to find a hobby you could pursue into a career. Of course, you are young, you’ve been told that many times. You still have years to find your way. But you have made no progress from when you were seven and someone asked you what you wanted to be when you grow up. You hadn’t known then, and you still don’t know now. It scares you.

You stare absent-mindedly as the page of your notebook is filled with lines from the swift movement of the pencil in your hand. You look up briefly – at Warren, not at the board – and then your gaze falls again, your thoughts far and your brain running on autopilot. You barely register your own movements until the notebook is yanked roughly from under your hand, startling you back into full consciousness. The spell is broken.

Jenniffer Crossbell stands over you, perfectly manicured fingers holding on to your notebook. “Now, now, what do we have here?” Her voice is full of condescension. You shrink back instinctively, until you literally cannot move any more backwards without falling off your chair. The class is over, and Ms. Grant has left the classroom, giving free reign to the older girl and her troop of butt-kissers. The few students still around duck out of the classroom as soon as they are able. One girl with short blond hair observes from a distance with cautious eyes, standing next to that same boy that never seems to smile.

Warren, who up until that moment was packing his things into his bag, places a soft hand on your shoulder as a means of support – or maybe so you don’t go tumbling down with your chair, because you are getting dangerously close to that right now.

“What’s this? Zombie Girl has a crush? Precious.” The senior sneers, her smile both demeaning and apathetic at once. Her nails are dangerously close to ripping through the paper – a drawing of Warren, you realize. You must have been doodling while spacing out – a habit you can’t seem to shake no matter what you do and no matter how often teachers scold you for doing it instead of paying attention in class.

In one swift, decisive movement of the girl’s hand, the picture rips in two. She lets the pieces fall to the ground, and your eyes follow their slow and gentle descent. You don’t blink. You don’t breathe. You don’t make even the slightest motion to defend yourself.

Warren does. “Leave her alone!” He rises to his feet to make himself seem taller, but the rise in the pitch of his voice gives away his nerves. You have never been more grateful to have a friend by your side, but… He is going to get himself killed like this. Socially, and possibly physically as well. It’s this fear for his safety that leads you to pull at his sleeve as he moves to stand in front of you – a desperate attempt to get him to get out of the metaphorical line of fire.

Too late. Jeniffer’s gaze glides over to Warren, pinning him down with a stare that perfectly transmits what she thinks of him and his attempt to stop her. “Knight in shining armor to the rescue? How _cute_.” She rolls her eyes. The other girls giggle.

The bell rings before anything worse can happen, and Jeniffer tosses one last demeaning remark over her shoulder before walking out of the room, hips swaying. Your heart beats a thousand miles a minute and your body refuses to move in the few moments following the confrontations. Instead, you settle on watching Warren as he kneels to pick up your ripped drawing.

“It’s really good.” He hands it back to you with an apologetic, awkward smile. “Uh… are you okay?”

You’ve been staring at him for a while now, you realize. “Y-Yeah! I, uh, I g-guess I just got thrown out of it. Sorry.” Then, a few seconds later, you add, “Thank you, Warren. For standing up to me and all.” You shift awkwardly from foot to foot, equal parts thankful and guilty. He doesn’t deserve to be dragged into your mess.

Warren grins. “Anytime! I don’t know what you did to step on that girl’s toes, but I’ve got your back.”

Later that day, you tape the torn drawing together with some clear tape and pin it to the wall above your bed. You decide to draw a picture of Juliet next.


	6. Rachel Amber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long-awaited meeting of Rachel Amber. Kind of. She has the kind of effect you would expect when an anxious new girl comes into contact with someone like Rachel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy hell it's been a long while! Between exams and being sick for a lot of the Christmas/New Year holidays, I didn't have time to write much. But I'm back now, so hopefully I can get back on track with this. This chapter is kind of meh... Mostly cause I had a bunch of it written before the hiatus and kind of forgot where I was going with it. Either way, please enjoy!

Halfway through week ten of your first semester at Blackwell – and yes, you’ve been counting – Juliet barges into your room to drag you along to what she described as “an opportunity that you just can’t miss”. The whole thing makes you wonder if the Blob is taking over Arcadia Bay, or if the zombie virus had actually begun to infect humans – then you call yourself out on hanging out around Warren and his nerd friends too much. You’ve met quite a few of them in the past few weeks – for example, you now know that the glasses-wearing girl from science class that glared at you that first week of class is called Brook, and she’s actually not so bad… as long as Warren isn’t around. You try not to talk to him when she is nearby, as her stare makes you uncomfortable for reasons you can’t even hope to understand. Then there’s Mikey and Steph, the lovers of tabletop games that have somehow managed to get you to agree to play with them at least once every week. They’re all good people. Weird, but good.

“Ow ow ow, Juliet, you’re going to pull my arm off!” You whimper as your friend quite literally drags you down the hall of Blackwell Academy, attracting all kinds of stares and laughs. Most of them are directed at you, most likely, since Juliet has actually managed to keep her head above water in the popularity game. At the very least, no one has tried to put a dead rat in her locker… unlike you.

Your complaints fall on deaf ears as Juliet glances back at you, grinning from ear to ear. “You will see! This is gonna be amazing!” She pulls on your arm so hard you swear it’s just about to be dislocated.

At long last, Juliet stops and releases your captive limb. You hold your arm close to your chest, rubbing circles on the wrist – damn, Juliet is strong. You’d have never guessed. The girl in question completely ignores your discomfort – and the weary half-glare you are throwing in her direction – in order to beam at you. “Look!” She gestures towards the door she has dragged you to.

You follow her pointing hand and raise an eyebrow. “Blackwelll… Theatre department? That’s what you wanted to show me?” On some level, you are actually disappointed. After all the noise she’s made in forcing you out of your room, you expected some kind of miraculous happenstance. Compared to the wild fantasies in your head, trying out for the play was kind of... meh.

Juliet pouts at the clear skepticism in your voice. “You don’t have to sound so down about it! Come on, you will love it!” She tugs on your arm again, gentler this time. As she leads you into the theater room, she adds, in a small voice: “Besides, I need someone here to watch me try out.”

Oh. The sarcastic retort budding at the tip of your tongue wilts away immediately and are instead replaced by guilt. You should’ve known that this is more than just Juliet trying to drag you around, which she has done many times before after claiming that you “don’t get out enough”. But then, this is Juliet you are talking about, the amazing and beautiful Juliet Watson. What does she have to feel insecure about?  
“Oh. Okay, then.” You don’t have anything smarter to say. Even so, Juliet beams at you.

“You won’t regret this, promise!”

And you don’t, because as soon as you make it to the stage you are met with a scene straight out of Shakespearean theater. A woman with flowing light brown hair is sprawled out on a bed while a tall dark-skinned young man stands over her with his hands on her pale throat.

“What noise is this?” The young man turns to where a door would have been on a set. There is nothing there but curtains, what with the bed being the only decoration they decided to bring out for auditions, but he makes it believable enough. “Not dead? Not yet quite dead? I that am cruel am yet merciful, I would not have thee linger in thy pain. So, so.”

A girl with short blond hair comes out from behind the curtain. You recognize her from your science class. “My lord , my lord! What, ho! My lord, my lord!”

“That’s Emilia, Desdemona’s handmaiden and Iago’s wife.” Juliet whispers in your ear. “That’s the role I’m trying out for. I just have to do a better job than Victoria, and I’m golden!”

That’s easier said than done, you want to say, because Victoria Chase looks and acts like she was made to have eyes on her. Still, you have faith in Juliet – she is just as good at attracting attention, if not better. You’ve heard things about Victoria Chase and no matter how much you’ve attempted to keep yourself from judging others based on rumors, she scares you. There is something fierce in her eyes that makes you willing to believe that she will walk over your corpse to get to her goal.

“Oh, falsely, falsely murdered!” The girl on the bed calls, her voice full of despair. It clenches at your heart strings and makes you immediately forget all about Victoria. Because of this, you don’t see the anger that passes through her eyes.

“That’s Rachel Amber,” Juliet is leaning in to whisper in your ear again, her words fast and excited “She’s a sophomore and she is amazing.”

And that she is. Her skin is smooth alabaster and her voice is silk as it floats through the air, the particles of oxygen and nitrogen blessed with the chance to hold up the gentle wisps of her words. Your breath gets caught somewhere midway between your lungs and your mouth, but you don’t even notice it.

“Brilliant, brilliant!” Mr. Keaton jumps to his feet, applauding so hard it makes your hands hurt just looking at him. Rachel Amber rises from the bed, smiling, and takes a bow for her adoring public before descending from the stage with the confidence of a renowned actress. You join in the sea of applause that erupts as she does so, smiling despite yourself. 

Juliet lightly taps your shoulder, a sly smile on her lips. “Rachel Amber’s looking at you~” She whispers, attempting to hold back a giggle with only limited success.

You can feel blood rush to your face and, judging by Juliet’s growing smile, your face must properly represent the embarrassment you are feeling. “N-no way! Hush, y-you.” Is your response, uttered in a rushed whisper that makes you sound like a choking fish. Juliet giggles, and pats your shoulder amicably.

But you do look, when Juliet goes on stage to recite her lines. Despite your best efforts to keep your eyes glued squarely to your friend – even though you don’t understand a word of the fancy, flowery language she is using – you can’t stop your gaze from sliding slowly towards Rachel Amber, sitting one row behind you, fifteen seats to the left.

She catches your gaze the moment you look at her, and smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos, and feedback in general is always appreciated! I'd love to know how I'm doing with this writing thing.


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